


Only The Moon Can Touch Us

by ThoughtfulBreadPolice



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Graphic, Graphic Sex, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, More tags to be added, Multi, Tony Being Tony, World War II, emotionally constipated bucky, extreme chapters will be labeled, heed the tags, lots of mentions about not fun things, mentions of underage prostitiution, play boy steve, this is graphic shit people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:38:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtfulBreadPolice/pseuds/ThoughtfulBreadPolice
Summary: In a burnt out farmhouse, in the middle of the french country side, three worlds collide with explosive force.





	Only The Moon Can Touch Us

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own. Will be posted in snippets. Not labeling the chapters in this one. Just assume the whole fic is graphic. GRAPHIC people. GRAPHIC.

     He wasn’t meant for war. To sweet and to kind and to smart for his own good. Corporal First Class, Tony Carbonelli had been all set to travel from Italy to America. He’d been ready for freedom, ready to escape a family that didn’t understand him. Then Hitler began the ethnic cleansing of the Jewish peoples and the world was thrown face first into what would become the deadliest war in history.

     He wanted to serve his country. He wanted to win medals and be all he could be. Captain Steven Rogers was a Brooklyn boy through and through. Picked on in youth for his small size (until the summer of his sixteenth year and he became the size of a human tank) Steve hated bullies, and Hitler was the biggest bully of them all. Steve was going to war. Steve was going to win medals and show everyone who had ever said he would never amount to nothin’, wrong.

     He had war in his heart. Growing up on the streets of Moscow; you either became the toughest, or you died, and Bucky had no plans on dying any time soon. Sergeant James Barnes was a spy, he was also an assassin and to the very few that he actually tolerated, a complete bastard of a man. He was built like a brick shit house and just as scary as his size intimated he was. He’d killed his first human by the time he was ten, and many many more since then. First, because he needed to in order to survive, and later, because those were his orders. Bucky had war in his heart and he was just fine with that.

     In a blown out farm house, in the middle of the french countryside, three worlds collide.

\-----------------------

  _“How do I even begin?”_

_“The same way everything does; at the beginning.”_

 

     The frost bit at his toes. It bit at everything, and Tony was certain that if the chattering of his teeth didn’t give him away, his breathing would. Every exhale might as well of been a beacon to any and all snipers in the area. He was _freezing. They were all freezing_ , and for what? For nothing but the egotism of Mussolini and the monster that was Hitler and his German soldiers?

     This was wrong. So, so wrong. He didn’t want to fight damn it! He didn’t want to kill the Jews. _Jozef is Jewish. Was Jewish._ Tony didn’t delude himself into thinking that his dear friend wasn't already dead and gone from this place.

     The soldier on his left turned to him. “Kalter dummer italienischer junge?” Tony blinked. “Mi dispiace. Non parlo tedesco. …” Whatever the man would have said next Tony would never know. The German soldier’s head exploded in a shower of bone and brain matter, spraying Tony in a hot splash back of vivid red blood that steamed as it cooled rapidly in the winter air. _My face isn’t cold anymore_ was Tony’s first thought as he dropped completely flat and prayed to Saint Michael that the small cropping of stone was enough to hide him from the sniper’s scope.

     His second thought was much more useful. _Iron Sights Mosin-Negant 91/30. Unconfirmed reports of up to 1,000 yard shot. 7.62x54R bullet_. Followed shortly by, I _’m going to die_.

     He would never forget the following echo of that gun as it fired **_pat, pat, pat, pat, pat_**. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ Nor the dull impact sound of bullets entering the bodies around him.  _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._  

     A scream down the line told him that the sniper had missed one. Sorta.

 _His rifle is a five shot,_ Tony thought while he waited. Counting down the seconds following a second round of fire. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._  Wait. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._   _ **Now**_!

    Tony bolted. Running as fast as he could to the tree line on his right. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._  he counted, heart beating in his ears as fear and adrenaline urging him to go faster. Tony bit back a scream as a bullet slammed into the tree, making the bark shatter on impact as he dove through the tree line and false safety. _Fuck that was close._

     Would the others run? Were they smart enough to? Tony doubted it. He was in German occupied France. Alone, in the dead of winter.

_He was going to die._

**Author's Note:**

> “Kalter dummer italienischer junge?” --Cold Silly Italian Boy  
> Mi dispiace. Non parlo tedesco --- I'm sorry. I don't speak German


End file.
